Last Wish
by rafocy
Summary: What if Dean was fataly wounded? Would John and Sam be able to put aside their differences to accomidate Dean's last wish? Set prior to season 1, directly after Sam leaves for Stanford. One shot. COMPLETE


_A/N: Just a little something I thought up. It's set before season one with Sam, Dean and John. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, which is a good thing because the series wouldn't have made it to season 1 if this was what really happened. _

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Last Wish

Dean lay panting on the hardwood floor. John was crashing around the small motel trying to find something to stop the bleeding. He finally settled on an old dishrag and knelt down beside his son.

"Here, try this," he passed over the rag. Dean pressed the dirty rag against the bullet hole in his side. The pain was unbearable, but he was too proud to let anyone know that. He had been standing outside when Sam and John had had their shout-a-thon and had remained outside even as Sam had driven off. If he hadn't been so worried about his brother he might have seen the person detach himself from the shadows and...

"Dad," he choked out, trying to let as little pain sound in his voice as possible.

"I'm here son," John whispered, stroking his dying son's cheek.

"Promise me something?" Dean asked, his voice fading.

"I'm here," he repeated.

"Make up with Sam," Dean said, "There's no reason to lose both your sons tonight."

"I'm not losing anyone tonight," John growled, "You're going to be just fine and your brother…he'll come to his senses." Dean would have responded, but at that moment a sharp burning pain shot through his side. A tortured moan escaped his lips and his eyes closed. "It'll be alright," John assured him, "I'll call Bobby and we'll get you taken care of." Dean couldn't protest as his father stood and dialed Bobby's number. He didn't hear the conversation that went on, but after what seemed like an eternity John was at his side again. "He'll be here as fast as he can," John promised, taking Dean's free hand.

"Call Sam," Dean wheezed.

"He's not going to answer," John said stubbornly.

"Call him damn it," Dean ground out. John watched him for a moment more and then called his youngest son. As he suspected Sam didn't answer. "Try again," Dean ordered. John tried again and again and again. Finally, after the sixth try Sam answered.

"I'm not coming back," Sam said angrily. Before John could respond, Dean took the phone out of his hand.

"Hey Sammy," he tried to sound like his usual self, but a pained grunt was audible through the line.

"Dean? Are you alright?" Sam asked, instantly concerned. He knew his brother well enough to know that he was in pain.

"Wonderful," Dean grinned, "Dad has something he wants to say to you." He handed the phone back to John. "Apologize." John considered ignoring the request, but at the determined look in Dean's eyes, he put the phone to his ear.

"Sam…I'm sorry," he said, "I think we both said some things we didn't mean and I…I just wanted to apologize." There was stunned silence on the other end, but it didn't take long for the youngest Winchester to catch on.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked quietly. John glanced down at Dean and then made his way into the other room.

"Your brother needs you Sam," John said, holding back the tears, "You need to come back now."

"What happened?" Sam asked, sounding both angry and terrified at the same time.

"He was shot," John answered shortly. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the fear and pain out of his voice.

"Where?"

"Damn it Sam, just get your ass back here! I don't think he can hold on much longer," John said loudly. He could feel the angry tears as they rolled down his cheeks and he quickly brushed them away.

"I'll be there soon," Sam said, and then hung up. John shut the phone and stood still for a moment to try and recollect himself. He had to be strong for Dean. When he felt in control again he went back into the main room and sat down in one of the rickety chairs. Dean had begun coughing and John watched in horror as blood dripped down his oldest son's chin. Dean's eyes closed again and his hand began slipping from the wound. John was by his side in a second, holding the rag in place.

"Sam's on his way," John said urgently, "Think you can hold on for him?" Dean coughed once more and then nodded. Dean felt his father whipping the blood from his mouth a second before he slipped into a comforting blackness.

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"Dean?" Dean's eyes fluttered for a moment. "Dean? Can you hear me?" This time he managed to open his eyes. With what little strength he had left he grinned his usual cocky grin.

"Hey Sammy," he rasped. Sam's eyes were rapidly filling with tears.

"What did you do?" he choked out.

"Ah, it's just a flesh wound. Son of a bitch nicked me," Dean coughed and then winced as his side protested angrily. "What about you and dad?" Dean asked, his face serious.

"We…Dean…"

"Sam, I want you to promise me you two will stop fighting," Dean said. Sam nodded. Dean, raised his hand part way and Sam grasped it automatically.

"You're not allowed to die," Sam sniffed earning a grin from his dying brother, "I didn't come all the way back here just to have you die on me."

"I love you Sam," Dean whispered, "I'll tell mom you love her." His body went limp and the pain finally left his face.

"Dean?" Sam let the tears fall. He wasn't afraid to show his emotions like John and Dean were, not that he could have stopped the tears even if he'd wanted to. "I love you too Dean and…and I'm going to try ok? I'm going to make it work between me and dad. You'll see," Sam promised, "You'll see." He squeezed Dean's lifeless hand and cried. A few seconds later John put his arm around his shoulder. Sam didn't have to turn around to know that John was crying too. They spent hours mourning the loss of the brother and son who had worked so hard to keep what remained of his family together. When they salted and burned his body, neither of them spoke. They watched the smoke rise into the night. Sam wiped his sleeve across his nose and took a long shaky breath. "I promised him I'd try to get along with you," he said, refusing to look at his father.

"Me too," John nodded, his eyes firmly locked on the flaming corpse in front of them. They lapsed back into silence. That had been the most civilized conversation they'd had in years. No screaming, no accusations, no abandoning the family speech, just a simple sentence between two grieving men. As they watched the orange flames, they both made a silent vow to end their rivalry for the fallen Winchester, who'd never given up hope that they would all someday be a real family.


End file.
